


not your sepia heyday

by kyrilu



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: Nandor and Guillermo, after the slaughter.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 29
Kudos: 363





	not your sepia heyday

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for the S2 finale. (yes, i did get drunk and write this after rewatching the finale.)

The dust of dissolved vampire corpses smells _revolting._ It reminds Nandor of those scented candles he was fond of a couple years back, until he got bored of them and asked Guillermo to replace them with regular candles. (After a while, it’s a little depressing to smell burned barbecue and turkey scents and realize you cannot eat anything like that.)

Speaking of Guillermo - he’s stepping his way across the bodies, sheathing his stakes and tucking his crucifix necklace underneath his shirt.

“Those ropes are made of silver,” Guillermo notes, nodding at the discarded bindings on the floor. He approaches the stage and begins to undo everyone's cuffs. “Did you get cut anywhere, Nandor?” 

Nandor frowns. “Where did this informality come from all of a sudden, Guillermo? That is not very respectful of you, you know.” 

“Right,” Guillermo says. “That’s what’s not respectful.” He glances at the carnage behind him.

“A bloody vampire slayer!” Nadja exclaims, throwing up her newly freed hands. “I bet you think you’re all high and mighty now, Guillermo De Niro. Well, don’t let it go to your head. One Nandor is enough for our household, thank you very much.” 

“We’re not calling you Buillermo the Bold or the like,” Laszlo agrees. “But that was rather impressive, even if it’s not the entertainment we were originally promised -- you’re still far too clothed for my liking.” 

Guillermo blinks. Nandor takes the opportunity to cut in, because seriously, Laszlo should know better by this point. “Guillermo is _my_ familiar. You are not allowed to order him to do the roleplaying or whatever freaky sex stuff you have in mind.” 

“Fine, fine, perhaps another time. By the way, I caught the delectable scent of some of those vampires’ familiars a little ways down the hall, and I’m positively _parched_.”

Nadja perks up. “I call dibs on the virgins. Can you believe they didn’t provide refreshments in the first place? So much fuss for this theatrical event, and they didn’t have the courtesy to serve a glass of blood or two. Should’ve known it was a set-up, no etiquette these days, I swear--”

Guillermo mutters, “You would’ve known right away if you actually read the invitation properly.” Which is pretty rude, but everyone ignores him.

Arm in arm, Laszlo and Nadja step across the bodies and head toward the familiar room. Colin Robinson stands to follow them, saying something boring about draining energy before they’re sucked dry.

“It’s nice that you’re not dead,” Colin says, patting Guillermo on the shoulder before he departs.

Which leaves Nandor and Guillermo alone on the stage. Nandor is ninety-nine percent sure that this is going to go into Serious Personal Conversation territory. He curls his lip, braces himself, both of them staring at each other--

“I’m sorry,” they chorus at the same time.

“Oh,” Guillermo says. “You’re… sorry…?” He looks taken aback. 

It’s just like Guillermo to be clueless. “I am not a fool,” Nandor says, folding his arms. “You left. _Again._ What more do you want, Guillermo? You can have Colin Robinson’s living quarters, because he’s moving into the other basement room. Or you can have Elvis Preston’s recording studio--”

“Presley.”

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Nandor says. “He tried to record an album with that rap vampire a couple days ago, but Laszlo chased them out. That is what happens when someone betrays and abandons you, Guillermo. It means that he is no longer welcome.” He sniffs. 

“Yeah, well, I’m here now,” Guillermo says, sighing. “And I should’ve stopped you guys from walking into an obvious trap. But I needed some space.” 

“But--” Nandor starts, then stops. He doesn’t know what to say in rebuttal.

No, he does. It’s: _But I needed you_. Because he did. He needed Guillermo to help attire him for nights and procure a quality stock of sustenance that _wasn’t_ mere drunkards that Nandor picked off on their way home from taverns. He needed Guillermo to brush his hair and black his boots -- to show him Interweb videos about funny animals -- to blow out the candles and clean the floors and ensure that sunlight won’t get in through the windows.

There’s something solemn and bright in Guillermo’s eyes when he looks at Nandor. 

“Master,” Guillermo says, “I don’t want to be the doormat under your feet. A stupid little bug that you can squish.” He gestures at the bodies in the theatre, his tone helpless, high-pitched. “I can’t fucking stand it. You can’t keep dangling power over me, when I can do _this_ \--” 

“I promised,” Nandor retorts. “Are you doubting me? I told you, now is not the time yet to make you a vampire--”

_“I don’t want to wait until I’m as old as Benjy!”_

Nandor hasn’t seen Guillermo so worked up before. Blood and sweat on his face, his gaze furious, fervent, and he closes the distance between them. He seems taller, but that, Nandor reasons, is because he’s still sitting down while Guillermo’s standing. 

Guillermo says, “Mas--Nandor. You said it yourself. A decade of service. And I saved you. I saved all of you, even that asshole Laszlo.”

“Yes, and it was very brave.” At Guillermo’s skeptical look, he bursts out, “You don’t have to fish for compliments! Noble deeds should be their own reward, but I can be generous. I told you, Guillermo, you can have Alvis’ recording studio. You can have two days a week off, and thirty-minute breaks, and I can--” What do humans like again? Food? “I can provide dinner for you on those off days. Whatever you wish. Out-take or home-cooked recipes. I can prepare a mean roasted pigeon, you know. Back in the day, one of my wives was very particular about the process, and I personally hunted the birds and gathered the herbs." 

“... I’ll pass on the pigeon.” 

Unbidden, the offer tumbles out: “What can I do? To--” _To make you happy._ Nandor winces. He amends, “To make things go back to normal.” 

Guillermo turns his head to the side. The overhanging spotlight makes a glare in his spectacles, and Nandor can’t see his expression. “I don’t know if we can go back to normal.” 

Nandor reaches out. His hand presses against Guillermo’s. The _Twilight_ series may have been (unfortunately) wrong about vampires glittering in the sunlight, but they were right about the temperature. Pale vampiric coldness against human warmth. Guillermo’s fingers are stumpy and blood-streaked, the same hands that stake vampires and smooth down the wrinkles in his capes.

“Come back home,” he says. Then, quietly, inaudibly, the documentary crew’s microphone strain to pick it up: “Please.” 

Guillermo is very still. He looks at Nandor’s hand grasping his. “You’re so dense,” he says, under his breath.

Another impolite comment. Nandor is about to tell him off, until he realizes that there is a wound on Guillermo’s forearm. Frowning, he shifts his attention up Guillermo’s sleeve. “What is this? I hope it isn’t a bite. Those other vampires are very filthy, and they shouldn’t be putting their mouths on you--” 

“And you should?” Guillermo says.

And Nandor freezes. He hears the implication under the surface, and it has nothing to do with vampire transformation. It’s the type of vulgar thing he’d expect from Laszlo, not his familiar, not _Guillermo_ , pathetic virgin that he clearly is.

“Don’t be presumptuous, Guillermo,” he says, stiffly. “Is this your first proper warrior’s wound in battle? I see now that it’s a scratch from vampiric claws. It requires a bandage. It would be disgusting if it became infected.” 

He tears a piece of fabric from his cloak. Guillermo accepts the scrap, fumbles to tie it with one hand.

“That’s not how you tie a bandage, Guillermo.” Must he do everything himself this week? Nandor snatches the cloth away from Guillermo and does it himself. There. 

Guillermo is staring at him when he finishes. “Thanks,” he says, eventually. 

They’re both silent again. Nandor abruptly feels… tired. He feels the centuries, feels the millennia, life upon life upon life neverending. The ephemeral trends from the foxtrot to feathered hats to steam-powered carriages to rolling-of-the-Rick; the comings and goings of fellow vampires and bowing familiars throughout his long years; the rise and dawn of a sun that he can never see. 

Just one immortal bite, just one sink of fang, and Guillermo will leave. Nandor knows this. This isn’t about dusted curtains. This isn’t about laundered clothes. This is about the eager wide-eyed youth from Panera Bread leaving Nandor in the dust, like he’s _nothing_.

“I can’t give you what you want,” Nandor says out loud. “Not-- not now.” 

“I know,” Guillermo says, and he looks tired, too. “I’m the Daniel to your Armand.”

“Are you speaking in tongues again?”

“It’s a reference from -- never mind.” Guillermo huffs and wipes blood from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Let’s go home, okay? And you should have something to drink. That silver rope did leave some burn marks, but it’ll probably heal after you get some nutrients in your system. Hopefully Laszlo and Nadja didn’t drain all those familiars.” 

He holds out his hand. Nandor thinks of the long wait in his coffin, waiting and waiting for Guillermo’s warm fingers to help him up. Now he’s here. He’s here and he’s a warrior like Nandor’s comrades in Al Quolanudar -- like Nandor himself, once upon a time.

They’ll figure this out later, or at least he hopes they will. So, Nandor accepts Guillermo’s hand, pulls himself up from the chair, and thinks of the way Guillermo had said his name, worried and over-intimate: _Nandor._


End file.
